Pitch Black (20 page)
“Maddie,” he breathed her name. “When I thought you—”
“Shhh.” She lowered her lips to his. If she revealed the thoughts that had gone through her mind while she’d been trapped in the dark in that ravine . . . well, she just couldn’t. Not even to Gabe.
What had been an act to silence quickly turned into something else. Her lips sought to devour his. She breathed in his exhaled breath, feeling the sweet hot flow of it all the way to the bottom of her lungs.
Gabe’s one hand slid up her back, beneath her sweatshirt, while the other cradled her head. When his mouth moved to her neck, she slid half off his lap, then straddled him. Her most intimate place rested against the ridge of his erection.
And she wanted more.
As his lips played along the sensitive skin of her collarbone, a hunger unlike any she’d ever experienced engulfed her; a hunger of the soul. She yearned to draw Gabe completely within herself, absorb every cell of him into her being, meld their bodies and their spirits into one.
When his hand moved to her breast, she moved against him.
He quickly grabbed her waist, stilling her. “Dear God in heaven, woman.”
She kissed him again. Once she’d completely robbed him of his breath, she said, “I suppose if you can’t stand the heat, we could get out of the kitchen. . . . ”
Heavy steps thundered overhead as Ethan moved between his bedroom and the bathroom. A door slammed.
Maddie closed her eyes, rested her forehead against Gabe’s, and took a deep breath.
“Or not.” Gabe’s tone was a peculiar mix of desire, disappointment, and humor. “The kid knows how to do his job—better than a disapproving father, in fact.”
Maddie’s mouth drew into a smile, appreciating to her very core Gabe’s gentle tolerance of her situation. She threw her head back and blew out a long breath, trying to get her own body to pull back a notch or two. “Probably the most effective birth control I’ve ever had.”
“Is he too old to leave with a sitter?”
Laughter broke free. A person just had to love a man with a sense of humor in a sexually frustrating situation like this.
Gabe cupped her face. “Seriously, Maddie, I’m so glad you’re safe—and sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”
She dropped an innocent kiss on his mouth. “I’m glad you were clever enough to find me at all. Thank you.” She slid off his lap and back into her own chair. Her good sense was slow in returning. She had to fight the urge to go back to him, to pretend there was nothing in the world that separated them.
Oh, to be in another place and time.
When had she turned into such a foolish dreamer?
She watched as Gabe took a long drink of ice water.
She followed suit, hoping it did the trick to cool her off.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his palms on his thighs. After clearing his throat a couple of times, he said, “Better get down to business; just in case Ethan is listening at the air ducts.” He winked. “Tell me what happened, what you remember before you went off the road.”
“It all happened so fast. I was driving under the overpass and suddenly there was a rock crashing through my windshield. I ducked . . . maybe I even pressed on the gas when I did it . . . the next thing I knew, I was headed downhill, crashing through the trees. Lots of branches were slapping at the car, then I guess I hit something hard enough to set the air bag off and stop the car. Like they say, it’s not the fall but the abrupt landing that’ll hurt you.”
“Did you see anyone on the overpass?”
“I wasn’t looking up there. You know how dangerous that curve is. I’ve learned not to take my eyes off the road for a second.” The implication hit her. “You think someone threw that rock at me?”
“The rock in your backseat wasn’t a piece of limestone from the bridge. And it was bigger than a football, with jagged edges. It doesn’t seem likely that it was sitting on the center of the overpass and just happened to fall off.”
He shifted in his chair. “We’ve occasionally had trouble with kids throwing rocks off overpasses at cars. But not there; they usually pick something more heavily traveled.”
Madison stretched her memory, trying to remember if she’d seen movement up there in her peripheral vision. But she’d been so intent on the curve and watching for oncoming traffic that nothing else had registered.
“I really don’t recall seeing anyone. But it’s not like I haven’t pissed plenty of people off lately.”
Gabe’s green gaze snapped to hers. “What do you mean?”
“Seems I’ve ruffled feathers with my articles on teen steroid use. Folks are taking it as a personal assault on the community’s morals.”
“And how are they displaying this displeasure?”
“Now you’re hurting my feelings. Don’t you read the paper?”
“I’ve been busy lately. What’s happened?”
“There have been some pretty ugly letters to the editor.”
“I want to see them. Anything else?”
“Well, Mr. Whetzel said there wasn’t anything wrong with my tire that was flat the other night. Somebody let the air out.”
Gabe looked intrigued.
“That night, there was some guy loitering around the front door of the newspaper. I thought he was just ducking in to get out of the rain . . . but maybe it was the person who deflated my tire.”
His eyes narrowed. “You mean there was somebody hanging around the newspaper when you were the only one there . . . and you didn’t tell me when you saw me minutes later?”
She just couldn’t admit that she’d been spooked enough to call 911. With a shrug she said, “I said I assumed it was someone getting out of the rain.”
His mouth was tight when he said, “No more assuming, not after tonight.”
With a nod, she said, “Okay. You’re right. I’ll be more careful.”
“And tell me whenever something happens: letters, threats, shadows, creepy feelings. . . . ”
“All right. I get it.” She chewed her thumbnail. “You know, I think I’m right about a local dealer.”
“What do you know?”
“I talked to Julia Patterson about her boyfriend’s steroid use. At first she wanted to talk, but then she backed off. Now she seems scared out of her wits. But I received an anonymous note that had to have come from her, telling me to ask Shelly Mitthoeffer about being the girlfriend of a steroid user. I caught Shelly at work. She blew me off, but I’m not giving up yet.”
“So this could be trouble from disgruntled townsfolk
or
an act by the dealer to scare you off?”
She gave him a slow grin. “Maybe.” As much as she hated being a target, she liked the idea that it confirmed she was on track in her investigation. “Or,” she said, thinking realistically, “maybe it was just some stupid kid’s prank.”
“Maybe. I’ll go up there at first light and look around.”
“You know, I swung by your office on my way home.” She paused, listening to make sure Ethan hadn’t come back downstairs. “I discovered some information today that I thought you’d find interesting.”
“About?”
“Steve McPherson’s first wife.”
W
ELL,” KATE SAID TO HER COUSIN OVER the phone, finally getting to the meat of why she’d called Christie in the first place, “I’m not at liberty to discuss details. But since you’re family and all, let’s just say some people are born bad.”
“Jordan?” Christie sounded shocked. “I can’t believe that.”
“Not Jordan!” Christie had never been the glossiest leaf on the family tree, bless her heart. “Jordan is a
victim
—and he’s not the only one.”
Kate just had to vent to somebody. Bobby was too preoccupied with his precious appointments. If only Todd were home, he’d understand what she was going through. But he wouldn’t get off work at the video store until eight.
Really, Kate didn’t have to worry about Christie ruining Sheriff Wyatt’s investigation; the girl couldn’t hold a thought long enough to repeat it to anyone. Nobody paid any attention to what came out of her mouth in any case.
“Who else is a victim?” Christie sounded completely clueless.
“Think about it,” Kate prompted. Sometimes she had to lay breadcrumbs all the way to the front door before Christie found the house in the forest. “What other horrible thing has happened lately?”
Kate heard Christie’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, dear.”
“We never had anything like this happen until that newspaper woman and her son moved here,” Kate said. “She adopted that boy. You know what they say, blood always tells.”
“Oooh.” Christie paused. “Somebody should do something. Did you tell the police?”
“They know. I just want you to take care of you and yours until this is all done. We don’t want to lose anyone else while the police dillydally around.”
“Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure to keep a close eye on Melinda Sue.”
“You do that.”
“You’d think a woman with a kid like that would lay low and not stir up all this nonsense about drug use around here.” Christie made the most astute statement Kate had ever heard come out of her mouth.
“Maybe she’s using all that hoo-ha to keep everyone looking the other direction,” Kate suggested.
“I reckon it’s possible. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to live around decent folks—should stay up in the city with their own kind.”
“We just have to make sure they don’t get away with it. . . . ” That’s when Kate realized there was more than one way to skin a cat.
ETHAN THREW HIMSELF ON HIS BED
. He looked at the history book sitting on his nightstand. What was the point?
He shoved the book off the table and onto the floor, then rolled onto his side.
Life had been so much simpler when he didn’t give a shit. Before he’d met M, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared—about anyone, even himself. His life had been reduced to what his science teacher called “basic instincts,” which boiled down to staying alive. After finding M, he realized staying alive wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
And he almost had it.
Now everything was going to shit. It had been better when he hadn’t known the difference.
Rolling onto his back, he laid his arm over his eyes. He ignored the wetness he felt there.
The image of Mr. McP dead on the ground was always there when he closed his eyes. It had begun to fade, the brilliant colors of blood and bone against emerald green ferns paling. But tonight it had come back in all its bloody glory.
It had not been Ethan’s first encounter with death. He’d had two others—not that he’d be telling anyone that little detail. Shit, people looked at him like he was a murderer already.
If he was smart, he’d split. It would be better for M. She didn’t deserve to have this crap happen to her just because of him. She and Sheriff Dude had been all quiet about the details of what caused her wreck; a rock had “fallen” off that overpass at just the moment she’d been driving under it. Yeah, sure. Ethan wasn’t stupid. Someone had waited for her and thrown it. People hated him, and now they hated her.
He rubbed his eyes furiously to scrub away Mr. McP. Then he wished he hadn’t. Although the image of Mr. McP’s bloody head was gone, another had taken its place—one from long ago.
He’d come home from fifth grade and found his mom, her face blue-white, her body cold, her dark hair matted and uncombed, with a needle still in her arm.
It was different than with Mr. McP. Because when his mom died, in addition to the shock and sadness, he remembered feeling—relieved. That feeling shamed him. He rarely admitted it to himself. But it was true; something he’d been bracing himself for had finally happened.
For as long as he could remember, on the days he’d been brave enough to come home after school, he’d stopped with his hand on the doorknob to their apartment. He had taken a deep breath, which in the hallway of their apartment building was hazardous in itself, and wondered if that was the day he would find her dead, or doing some dude for drugs, or just . . . gone. He supposed dead was better than gone in some ways. He hadn’t had to wonder if she was coming back.
If something happened to M, it would be so much worse. There would be no relief, only guilt. With M, he hadn’t had to take the few scraps of good along with the boatload of bad. With M, it was good. Period. Even when she pissed him off.
Had he read too much into that weird phone call? Had it just been some kids screwing around?
He wanted to think so. But shit, that line about Mommy had nearly given him a heart attack.
He never should have allowed himself to hope that his life was going to be like a normal kid’s. He should never have gone on that camping trip.
GABE WAS MORE THAN INTERESTED
in hearing about McPherson’s first wife. Checking into McPherson’s life in Michigan was his first priority tomorrow morning. This would give him a leg up. He pushed his plate away and settled his forearms on the table. Dishes could wait.
“What did you find out?” he asked Maddie.
“After you said that McPherson didn’t like to talk about his first wife’s death, it made me wonder why. I mean, grief is understandable. But to have lived here all these years and remarried even, it seemed odd that nobody knew exactly what had happened to her. Most everyone I spoke to assumed as you did, that she’d had cancer or something.
“But that isn’t the case. She died after falling down the stairs—at home.
Supposedly
alone. Todd came home from baseball practice and found her. He was only ten.”
Gabe kept his response neutral. “Damn. Poor kid. No wonder he’s so protective of Kate.”
She looked at him as if he was missing the point. “Don’t you find it significant that a man who we suspect was knocking his stepson around had a wife who died like that?”
The point hadn’t been lost on him. But he was having a difficult time not discussing with Maddie more than he should about this case. He couldn’t deny he was personally invested in her. Plus, she was intelligent and had an investigative mind; she could help him think things through. But she was also involved on a level that precluded such conversations. It was a hell of a line to straddle.
He said, “I’ll contact the authorities in Ann Arbor and see what the investigation revealed. I can’t imagine it’ll be enough to confirm abuse . . . I mean, the guy wasn’t charged.”
“You’re right, he wasn’t. But maybe they had suspicions without enough evidence for a case.” She cast him a piqued look. “Did
you
do any checking into his background after we talked?”
Her question rankled. “I wasn’t aware I was required to report to you about every step of
my
investigation.”
Maddie’s offended gaze shifted away from him and she sat up straighter in her chair.
He doubted she’d want to hear what Jacob Roberts had had to say. What if her theory about Steve’s abuse turned out to be true, but led to another scenario altogether about the last moments of his life?
She wanted the truth, but only the parts that worked to clear Ethan of suspicion.
And things were not stacking up in Ethan’s favor at the moment.
Madison wasn’t going to want to hear that there were kids who’d reported to the school counselor that they’d witnessed Ethan threatening Colin Arbuckle in the hall at school the day before he died—because Colin was mouthing off about knowing what went down on the mountain. She wasn’t going to want to hear the stories of Ethan naming himself Jordan Gray’s personal protector. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to want to hear Kate’s latest accusation.
Hell, he hadn’t wanted to hear any of those things either. But there they were.
He was desperate to unravel this and find that all of those things had been products of coincidence and gossip. Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to have any choice but to share all of those facts with the DA—who’d begun making daily calls to check on Gabe’s progress. So far he’d avoided laying out what he’d discovered using the excuse of waiting for lab results, hoping to buy enough time to come up with a more likely suspect. But Forrest County wasn’t a place accustomed to murder and unexplained deaths and everybody was getting edgy.
God, Gabe didn’t want
any
of this to be happening.
“Maddie, I can’t make the fact that Ethan is still a person of interest in this case go away. As much as I’d like to, I can’t do it.”
Maddie sat in rigid silence. Her gaze was fixed on the remnants of the scrambled eggs drying on her plate. She clenched her hands in her lap and her mouth was pinched with anger. The sound of her ragged breathing filled the room.
“As long as I’ve already pissed you off,” he finally said, “I have a couple of questions for you.”
Her jaw was tight as she turned to look at him. “Of course my son and I will cooperate fully with
your
investigation.” Her tone was cold and formal.
“Damn it, Maddie, you’re making this harder than it has to be.” He wished they were back to the point where the only thing standing between them was her belief that she had to choose between being a woman and being a responsible mother.
She glared at him. “Your questions?”
“Did you and Ethan go see Jordan yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Were you with them the entire visit? Was there a time when they were alone together?”
She rubbed the side of her neck—a sure sign that she didn’t want to answer. If she did that in front of the district attorney, she was sunk. That man could read tells better than any police interrogator Gabe had ever run across.
“Why?” she asked. “What difference does it make?”
He nailed her with his gaze.
She raised her chin. “I was there.”
Gabe would have been relieved if he hadn’t heard the instant of hesitation in her voice or seen the flash of indecision in her eyes.
He stood and picked up their dirty plates. “All right, ma’am. Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be finishing my chore, then get on my way.” He gave her a dose of her own medicine, sounding just as stiff and standoffish as she had.
He set the plates down so hard on the kitchen counter that the silverware resting on them clattered.
Lord Almighty, this woman ignited his passion and challenged his patience. Everything about her provoked extremes.
He turned on the water and the garbage disposal, then scraped the plates, making more racket than necessary.
He was so hot under the collar that he could snatch her up out of that chair and shake her. Didn’t she know he was trying to help her? Hiding things from him—his thoughts stumbled right there.
If she revealed things to him that might be damaging to her son, he wouldn’t be able to ignore them; he’d already told her as much. He couldn’t expect her to confide in him as a friend and a partner in solving this mystery if he was going to act like an officer of the law. He couldn’t have it both ways any more than she could; there was no separating the job from the man, or the mother from the woman.
When he turned around after putting the plates in the dishwasher, she was sitting right where she’d been when he’d left the table. Her back was to him, but the rigidity had left her shoulders; her posture told him just how exhausted she was.
What kind of bastard was he? The woman had had a rock thrown through her windshield, driven off the road, and been trapped in her car in the dark for hours. This heaped upon all the rest of the recent trauma and public speculation.
He stepped behind her and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. “I’ll call you after I check out the railroad overpass tomorrow; let you know if I find anything.”
She didn’t say anything, but nodded once.
“Can I do anything for you before I leave?” Although they were beyond taking a giant step backward to those moments after he’d helped her out of that ravine, he tried to convey his regret for the loss with his voice and platonic touch.
She kept her face forward as she took her left hand and patted his where it rested on her right shoulder. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
They were both torn, bloodied, and wounded. It seemed best to leave it there.
He gave the same response he’d given her several times before. “My pleasure.”
Then he left. As he got in his Jeep, he looked back at the house. Ethan was silhouetted against his upstairs bedroom window, watching him leave.
